Love and SpiderMan
by MatureImmaturity
Summary: A girl; big surprise, huh?; wakes up in New York to find herself taking up residence with our favorite webswinger. Oh, did I mention she sees Spidey's world as a comic? Rating for language.
1. Dream Come True Almost

A/N: As you can tell by now, if you've read my other fics, I like writing crossover stories where people from our world go into fictional ones. Well, this one isn't going to be any different. So if you're tired of reading these, then leave because I don't have time to read flames from people who aren't really all that interested in the first place. If you are interested, read on. P.S. I don't know all that much about the Spider-Man comics, so it'll probably be A/U. I might stick in a villain or two, though it is doubtful because I'm horrible (note the descriptive adjective) at action scenes. On to the story, huzzah! (No review replies, sorry.)

**Crossing Over**

          It _was_ a normal day, night, whatever. 'Was' being the key word here. I _was sitting up in my room, sulking like I usually do, over things that I would usually sulk over. No friends, parents always fighting, people mistaking me for a guy. You see, I keep my auburn straight hair cut short right above my ears, 'cause I think that it makes it easier to take care of. I wear boys' clothing 'cause it's more comfortable. If you don't take a close look at me, or it's dark, you'll most likely think I'm a guy. It doesn't help that I have a flat chest, or that I'm as skinny as a rail._

          This is why I was moping in my room at 9:00 P.M. on a Friday when I _should have been out partying, or whatever sixteen-year-old tomboys _do_ on Friday nights. Looking up into the sky, I saw a shooting star. Closing my eyes, I wished for the thing I had always wanted. _

          _I wish I were somewhere where people accepted me; somewhere where I have at least one good friend._

          The star faded from view just as I opened my eyes, and I sighed. I had never believed in that wish philosophy, but for some reason, I needed to have proof for myself. Running my hand through my hair, I flopped onto my 'Spider-Man' bedspread face down, making it so that no one could see the tears trickling down my olive cheeks, turning my vivid green eyes dim and dull. I would never be happy. Boy (A/n: No pun intended), I didn't know how wrong I was.

~*~

          When I woke up, it was freezing. Colder than it should have been in my room, ever. I heard gunshots. _Gunshots_? We didn't live in the city. We lived just outside the city, and I despised the walk to school because it was ten times longer than the other kids'. Jerking into a sitting position, I noticed that I was no longer in my bed. I was sitting on the icy floor of an alley. Far away from what I called a home.

          I was still, however, in my same clothes. In addition, by a quick feeling of my face, I surmised that I also appeared the same. Feeling a bulge in my back pocket, I reached in and brought out a wallet that I had never seen before. A feeling of dread came over me. Had I stole from someone and not remembered? More shots ran out, so, as a defense mechanism, I slipped further into the shadows that naturally appear at 9:00 in autumn. At least, that's what time I _assumed_ it was. 

          Two, giant burly guys with ski masks and sacks ran past the entrance to the alley, not even giving it a second glance. Of course, they could have just seemed big to me because I am only 5'(1.5 meters) in height. But that's not the point. I sighed in relief, and then stared at the wallet more closely. It had my name on the ID, Daxa (a/n: pronounced da as in 'bat' and xa as in 'sum') Hoffkan, though I don't remember ever receiving an ID. It said I had a drivers' license and that I was legally eighteen, though if I remembered my own birthday correctly, I was only sixteen. There was also _$350 in the wallet. What had happened?_

          Not hearing any more firing, I crept out of the alley and gazed around. A couple of police officers had parked their cars about twenty feet (six meters) to the right of me in front of a bank. Three male officers were standing by the cars, looking at the huge hole in the glass window. Obviously, there had been a robbery. _They must have been who the thugs were running from! I thought frantically. Suddenly, one of them noticed me. In the dark, I probably looked like the type of people they were searching for._

          "Hey! Hey, you! Stick your hands up!" _Crap, I thought. __They are probably not going to buy that whole, 'I've been transported through space and time' excuse. Better see if I can outrun. Besides, all of 'em look like they could cut down on the doughnuts. I took off running, hoping that they wouldn't come after me with the cars. Fate seemed to be on my side that night, since I heard footsteps, but they faded away. Panting heavily, I leaned against a burned out streetlight._

          "So, I take it they weren't going to invite you to the cocktail party?" a voice asked from seemingly nowhere. I jumped, whirling around, my unbuttoned tan checkered shirt fluttering at the sudden breeze, revealing a white wife beater underneath. I almost tripped over my dark green, baggy cargo pants as well.

          "Who's there?"

          There was an over dramatic sigh.

          "I see my reputation _hasn't preceded me in this case. Are you new in New York?"_

          An old newspaper happened to blow against my leg at that very moment. (A/n: Yeah, I know, big coincidence, deal with it.) Picking it up, I read something that didn't really make me feel a whole lot better. It said 'The Daily Bugle' at the top in bold letters. The Daily Bugle, to my knowledge, was a fictional paper that existed only in the world of . . . Spider-Man. Which meant that anonymous voice that was talking to me was none other than . . .

          "This isn't happening, this isn't happening,—"

          "What, you've never been busted by ol' Web-Head before? Here, let me tell you how it goes–"

          However, by that time, I had already taken off running again, not knowing where I was going, just knowing that the adrenaline rush from thinking I was insane giving me a second wind. I didn't hear him sigh, but I _did_ hear him mutter,

          "Why do they _always want to do it the _hard_ way?"_

          I did _not want to stick around to find out what the hard way was, so I tried to run even faster. Alas, my efforts were in vain, because I felt something like thick rope tying my ankles together. Then I smirked. This guy didn't know who he was dealing with. Take my legs away. I didn't need them. __I was an acrobat._

          Bending my knees, I hopped up onto my hands and continued to run, this time walking on my hands, head lifted up and pointed forward. I heard an amused chuckle from somewhere close behind me, and I realized I was slowing down. Gritting my teeth, I speeded up, but this time, I was_ doomed_. Because there was something tying my _wrists_ together, causing me to fall forwards, flat on my back.

          "Ow," I said simply as someone came to stand next to me in the shadows of the large brick building blocking me off from the rest of the neighborhood.

          "Whoops, sorry. Did I ruin your escape plan? Well, that's _technically_ what I'm supposed to do. I think you need to go visit your police buddies. I hear their parties are a _real _ blast."

          "Listen to me," I said angrily as I brought my hands over my head and drew my knees in, coming to a sort of sit/squat position. It was then I realized that I had been chased into an alleyway. "Please, don't turn me in to the police. I didn't do anything but I can't prove it."

          "Then why were you running?"

          "Because they thought I was someone else."

          "Who?"

          "How am I supposed to know? Whoever robbed the bank!"

          "How did you know the bank was robbed?"

          "What is this, twenty questions? I _saw it with my __eyes. You use them to _see_ things. Can I go home . . . now?" I trailed off at the last part because I had no idea how to get home. I didn't even know if this was real or something I dreamed up._

          "Sorry pal, but you were near the scene of the crime." He stepped into the moonlight _Guess it's later than nine after all and I saw. It __was Spider-Man._

          "Holy sh–"

          "Young men who are respected by the community _so_ much shouldn't use such language. What, is the mask too much? I knew it; it makes me look fat, right?"

          "Damn! Even _superheroes get it wrong."_

          "Well, I wouldn't call me a _superhero–"_

          "Neither would I. Here, look at my ID and tell me what you said wrong."

          He took my wallet, opened it and glanced over my ID. Then he lowered it to look at me.

          "Oops. Well then, young _women shouldn't use such language."  Throwing the wallet back, he asked, "So, tell me again why I shouldn't hand you over to the cops?" _

          I tried to think of something that could persuade Spider-Man to let me go. No, he wasn't Spider-Man. Not in the daytime, anyway. He was Peter Parker.

          "Because I know your secret identity," here I looked around making sure no one was listening and then whispered, "Peter Parker." I pulled my self into a sitting position as the white eyes of his mask grew larger.

          "I'm sure you don't want me telling the police force that fact. Word might get to the news, and, oh, you work there, don't you? The fantastic photographer who gets all the pictures of Spider-Man is Spider-Man himself. Isn't that ironic?"

          Peter didn't say anything for a while. I assumed he was thinking. Then, we both heard sirens.

          "Shit," I said plainly.

          "Very eloquent."

          "Thanks. Now, are you going to turn me in?"

          He stared at me for a while, not saying anything. Or at least, I _think _he stared at me. It was hard to tell with the mask. 

          "No, but where will you go? I'll need to talk to you again."

          "I'll find a crappy hotel, but I don't have that much money. What'll I do after my money runs out?"

          "We'll deal with that when the time comes. Just be ready."  With that, he was gone, web slinging off into the night. I shook my head, and noticed he had tossed me a knife to cut the webbing with. I grabbed it as best I could with my wrists and cut my bonds. Jumping up, I managed to avoid the police by hiding in dark alleyways where their searchlights never bothered to look because the area was so disgusting; buildings that had been abandoned so long ago that there were cobwebs over cobwebs over cobwebs; and beneath broken down cars that would never run again even if the greatest mechanic in the world set all their time for that one car. Then I made my way to a sleazy hotel in the bad part of NYC. Getting the cheapest room I could haggle for, I staggered in and opened the window for some air. I collapsed onto the badly made bed, wincing as it creaked noisily. Eventually though, I drifted off to sleep, not even bothering to ponder what Peter meant by 'being ready.'

~*~


	2. Touring New York In Style

          I was awoken at 10:00 the next morning, not by an alarm clock, not by the suns rays, and _definitely not by my mother. A cockroach awaked me. This discovery was accompanied by many screams on my part, that I'm sure woke many others in the hotel. Once I calmed down however, I realized the reason I was in such a mediocre dump in the first place. I had nowhere else to go._

          Throwing back my covers, I crossed the room to put all my strength into opening the half-rotted paint-chipped window . . . and almost had a heart attack, tumbling backward onto the yellowing (which had probably been white at some point) carpet.

          "You make it seem like you're not happy to see me!"

          Spider-Man, or Peter Parker, whichever you prefer, was hanging upside-down from the outside top of my window, in full costume.

          "No, that's not the case at all, what ever gave you that completely correct impression?" I remarked sardonically. He grabbed the inside of my window, swung his legs in and twisted his waist so that he landed facing me. He then turned around and offered me his hand. I snorted and jumped up on my own. Shrugging, Peter walked over and sat on my bed. (This made me feel a lot better, since I was a lot shorter than him.)

          "So, you gonna tell me how you know who I am?"

          "Dude, I'm still trying to figure out whether or not I'm goin' crazy."

          "Care to . . . elaborate?"

          "Ever had one o' those dreams where you're not sure if you're awake or sleeping?"

          "Yeah, but what has that got to do with this whole situation?"

          "That's how I feel. My mind is telling me that you don't exist."

          "Brain tumor?"

          I sighed, shaking my head. I truly did not have the energy to deal with Peter's humor at the moment.

          "What exactly do you want me to tell you?"

          "How you know, where you came from, and why you were in that alley."

          "Well settle down, Web-Head, cause it ain't no short story."

He stood up, made a web hammock that hung from the ceiling, lay in it so he was facing me and said,

          "I'm ready."

          I rolled my eyes, lay back on my bed, and started my account. 

~*~

          Twenty minutes later, there was nothing but silence as Pete took in my story and anything else remotely related to my sudden appearance in the web swinger's world. A couple of more minutes passed. Then,

          "Whoa."

          I rolled my eyes.

          "Great, when he's in battle, about to die a horrifically gory death, he can come up with the corniest jokes known to the human race, but when he's in a dilapidated decaying hotel, free from any danger in the company of a potentially psychotic female, the famous web-swinger is speechless," I muttered under my breath.

          "I heard that."

          "Good."

          "You're serious about all of this?"

          "No, I just like messing with peoples' heads and stalking them so I can pretend their life is a comic/cartoon/movie. I do it on every possible occasion. Great way to pass the time."

          "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

          "Take it however the hell you want to take it, I'm still tellin' the truth."

          "Whatever you say . . . what was your name again?"

          "Daxa. Daxa Hoffkan."

          Silence.

          "Yeah, it sucks, but hey, my parents were probably stoned when they named me anyway."

          More silence.

          "You gonna say something, or just sit there all . . . day?"  The last part was a question, because as I sat up, all that remained of 'Spider-Man' was an empty hammock swinging back and forth slightly. Nevertheless, as I looked closer, I saw that there was a small scrap of paper in it, no bigger than my palm. I probably wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't looking for a clue to why Peter left so quickly.

          Pushing myself off the bed with one hand, I picked the floppy off-white paper up and turned it over. It read:

          _Times Square_.___ Twelve-thirty. I'll find you. Don't try to run._

I snorted, thinking, _Making demands already? I should be the one doing that. After all, I do know his identity. Oh well, got nothing to lose, and besides, I only have $200 left.  Who says I can't do a little sight seeing first? I smirked and went to sign out of the hotel, knowing that the webbing in my room would disintegrate before the maids came in to clean.  Two hours later, I was finding that two-hundred buckaroos didn't get you far, if _anywhere, _in NYC._

~*~

          "Shit!" I exclaimed after being kicked out of a history museum for spitting flem. _I did it in the trashcan, what more do they want? _I stopped a light-haired business man on the street who didn't look _too _busy and asked him what time it was. Finding out that I only had ten minutes to get to Times Square, I scrambled onto a bus heading that way, paying with the rest of my two hundred dollars. (Fifty cents.) People in New York seemed to up the price on things the more trivial they were. I had spent most of my money on buses like the one I was currently on. The other part I had wasted trying to get something decent to eat. In the end, all I got to eat was an almost rotten apple and one liter of bottled water that cost me more than gas would have.

          Running into the middle of the square, panting, I realized that it was useless to try to look for Peter, since there were obviously _way _too many people. Besides, his note said that he would find me. I slipped into a side alleyway, glancing out every now and then, sometimes glaring at gangster-looking wannabes that came too close. As people passed by, I snuck subtle glances at their watches and concluded that Peter was late. 

          "When is he ever on time?" I muttered to myself, glimpsing Times Square once more before sticking my hands in my pockets and sighing, muttering to myself.

          "Apparently, 'he' is on time enough to hear that 'his' acquaintance appears to enjoy talking to herself," came an amused voice from behind, startling me. I whipped around to see Peter 'walking' upside-down on the bottom side of a building ledge, out of costume, observing my reaction. Scowling at the genetically advanced young man, I walked further into the alley so as not to let people see him . . . well . . . hanging there.

          "How long have you been there?"

          "Long enough to know that you don't trust me. I had to make sure that you were actually here and not somewhere else, standing me up."

          "And how exactly did you do that?" I asked, feeling smug that I had stumped him; that he was lying about being so observant.

          "Spider-tracer," he answered nonchalantly. I froze. _Damn, forgot about those. Now there's no telling howlong he's been following me. Great._

"Right, a spider-tracer. So, are we gonna talk or what?" I asked, staring up into the sky. He didn't answer, and when I looked back down, he was standing on the ground next to me, glancing out into the square every now and then. I sighed, finding out that, the one thing that comic canon _didn't _tell you about Spider-Man was that he had an _incredibly _short attention span. Just as I was going to ask him about talking again, he picked me up and started web swinging to a destination only known to his only slightly tinted mind. I didn't quite trust him not to drop me (on accident or on purpose), so I wrapped my arms around his neck, closed my eyes tightly and prayed that he didn't have a personality change on the way there.

          We dropped onto a gray, bland concrete rooftop of some business building about two miles from Times Square and he set me down. My legs were a little shaky, but other than that, I was no worse for the wear. Peter stared at me with what appeared to be admiration.

          "What?" I inquired, not used to someone looking at me so intensely. He shook his head side to side as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

          "You're the first person that I've taken web-swinging that hasn't . . . well . . . screamed in terror or something like that."

          "Excuse me if I forgot the sound effects, Peter. I'm new to this whole 'hostage' situation."

          "Whoever said you were a hostage?"  
          "Okay, the first time you met me, I was tied up, with _your _webbing, I might add. The next time you saw me, you freaked me out of my mind and made me tell you something. Then you left a note saying meet you and if I didn't, you'd find me. That sounds like how you would treat a hostage. Kapeesh?"

          He winced and shrugged his shoulders.

          "What did you expect me to do? I find someone who knows my identity, my past, and information about almost everyone in my life, past, present and maybe future. Was I supposed to jump around in joy that there was someone I could talk to about Spider-Man? Sorry if I wasn't as enthusiastic as you'd hoped."

          I smiled, but my expression soon became confused.

          "Can you explain to me why we're on a rooftop?"

          He grinned.

          "Simple. Up here, we won't be overheard, I can keep an eye on the city, and the view is fantastic!"

          I rolled my eyes and lay down, staring at the sky, even though I did agree with him about the view. Before I lay all the way down, I could see Peter sitting cross-legged across from me.

          "Talk to me, baby. Why do you want to talk to me, other than the fact that I need to find a way to get home, not that I _want _to go home you understand. Anyway, I have nothing else to tell you except that I need money. Who knew museums charged a fee?" 

          "I did. But that's not the point. I must admit, I didn't believe you at first. That's why I went to the library. They have records on everyone eighteen and over. So, I typed in your name. Which is when the weirdness began. The computer said you came into the city with a valid ID when you were eighteen, three months ago, and nothing else. Zip, zilch, nada, nothing. Not even your origins. Pretty fishy if you ask me."

          "Did I ask you?"

          He laughed.

          "So that's why you wanted to talk to me? To tell me that I have some kind of mystery history? To swing me off to some rooftop _somewhere _to inform me of my _fishy _origins?"  I sat up and propped my arms up behind me. "Let me tell you something, 'Spider-Man'. All day today, I've been trying to fit in. I've been _trying _to act like I don't know anything, like I'm a _normal _person. Guess what I found out?"

          He shrugged, scooted back; I was starting to get mad. I stood up and threw my arms up in the air, screaming at the sky,

          "NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T GET VISITED BY SPIDER-MAN AT 10:00 IN THE MORNING!"

          Scratch mad, I was pissed; it was a good thing he had picked one of the taller skyscrapers; no one could hear me. Peter cringed, stood up as well, and moved away from me a bit. Okay, more than a bit. More like ten feet.

          "Do you have _any bright ideas about how to get me back, __Web-Head?!" _

          I didn't mean that as a compliment, and I think he knew.

          "Look, Daxa, calm down—"

          "Calm down? Calm _down?! How am I supposed to calm down when I'm on a rooftop, conversing with a guy who: a. shoots webbing from his wrists, b. tells worse jokes than a rock and c. swings around in red slash black slash white slash blue SPANDEX?!"_

          I don't think Peter was being intimidated at all, since he broke out into peals of laughter, as did I when I realized what I had just said. 

          Sitting up after catching my breath, I glanced over at Peter to see that he had closed his eyes and a smile was on his face. I leaned over him extremely carefully, and determined that he was sleeping. I wet my finger and had it about one millimeter from his ear canal when he grabbed my wrist. _Damn, not sleeping._ Without opening his eyes, he said,

          "Spider sense Daxa, spider sense."

          I smiled.

          "You sure know how to ruin a person's fun, don't you?"

          He sat up and opened his eyes, looking straight in mine, not letting go of my wrist, which somewhat unnerved me, but it's not like I could do anything against superhuman strength.

          "That depends on your definition of fun."

          My eyes widened.

          "Peter, you're not going to—"

          "Yes, as a matter of fact, I _am going to. Thank you for asking. Most people just stutter uncontrollably, which is __very annoying."_

          With that, he put an arm around my waist, hopped up, and we were off. To where, I had no idea.

~*~

(A/N: In case any of you people are wondering about Peter being out of costume and web-swinging at the same time, here's an explanation. First of all, he takes the back streets, but at the same time, picks buildings high enough so that no one on the ground (as if they'd look up anyway) sees who he is. Second of all, Daxa would warn him if he was going to be in view of anyone on the buildings, even though he would notice them before she would. Everyone okay now? Okily dokily.)

Right, I'll try to keep updating this.


	3. Wondering, Waiting, Watching

            The second time I had the pleasure of web swinging with Peter, I decided to leave my eyes open. Amazingly, the ride seemed slower that before; was I enjoying it? Anyway, when we finally stopped moving, we were at Peter's house. This time, I jumped out of his arms (he was probably off-guard; I'm no match for his strength) and turned to face him.

            "What are you going to tell Aunt May?"

            "How do you know about . . . oh, right, have to get used to that. Um, you're a long lost relative I found on the Internet and you have no where to stay?"

            I looked at him skeptically.

            "She'll believe that? Oh, _right,_" I said, sounding sickly sweet. "She believes everything you say because you're _honest. I had forgotten how lame this comic/show actually is." _

            "Hey, you're talking about my life here. Show some respect."

            "Forgive me, oh _mighty _web-swinger. By the way, before I settle in to your 'pad'," he rolled his eyes, "can you take me to the store?"

            "Why?" he asked, appearing confused that I would need something he didn't already have.

            "I need to buy some Raid and spray my room. Wouldn't want any spiders in there while I was sleeping. Spiders are gross, yucky, can't stand 'em. Arachnophobia, you know."

            "Right, that's it. Tonight, you sleep on the couch."

            "Oh, c'mon, it wasn't even gonna be full strength!"

            I assume Peter was going to reply, but at that exact moment, his aunt came out to see who was holding a conversation on her front lawn. (A/N: At this time, Peter is still in high school, thus, he still lives with his aunt.)

            "Peter, who is this?"

            "He gave me a look that seemed to say, 'you'd better have a story, because I sure don't'. I rolled my eyes and turned to Aunt May.

            "Oh, didn't he tell you last night? I'm Peter's pen pal from school, in, uh, Europe! I got the money to come over, and I guess we found each other! Is it okay if I stay here?"

            She looked overjoyed.

            "Of course it's okay, dear! We _need _another female around this house! What did you say your name was?"

            "I'm Daxa Hoffkan. Can I call you Aunt May? Peter has told me so much about you I feel as if I know you personally now."

            "Sure Daxa, honey, it's fine. Oh, now we'll have some use for that guest room. Peter, you'll have to clean it our. But where ever is your luggage?"

            Peter looked worried, but I had it.

            "I decided that I was going to rough it, only bringing money with me, but unfortunately I spent it all yesterday. I didn't know things would be so expensive. I guess I'll have to Peter's, right Pete?"  I nudged him in the side, starting to walk towards the house. 

            He smiled at me and shook his head, walking inside as well.

            "Right, Daxa."

~*~

            That night (I count midnight as night, wouldn't you?), I plopped down on my bed (actually it was the gust room, but it was gonna be mine anyway) face up, staring at the ceiling. _Is this where I was supposed to end up? I mused. __Good thing I ended up here though. I don't think Mr. Matt Murdock would have taken kindly to some sixteen-year-old traipsing around Hell's Kitchen with the knowledge of his evening plan. Not a pleasant sight when you think about it. I chuckled at my own joke, shaking my head and sitting up. _What am I doing up not? _I wondered, gazing around the darkened bedroom. Trying to go through all the reasons I was off and on sleeping since ten o'clock, it suddenly hit me. Peter._

            Since I knew that Peter went 'out on the town, I wanted to make sure he was alright when he came back. I scrambled out of my bed, bolting out the door and down the hallway. Rushing to Pete's room, I stopped only when I was directly in front of the door. I heard snores, and my heart beat slowed a bit. But only a bit, because there was something odd about those snores. They seemed to be . . . repeating?

            My mind took a while to catch up, but I figured it out. A tape recorder with a loop. With Aunt May's hearing, she wouldn't notice, but I could distinctly hear the snores repeating every few seconds. My heart sped back up again; a race car driver on the final lap. I pushed open the door, quickly but carefully so as not to wake May, and glanced around the room. 

            First I saw that there was a lump in the bed to represent Peter if his Aunt May came in. I however, could clearly see that it wasn't moving. Then my eyes landed on the open window; I groaned. _So he **has gone out tonight. What am I supposed to do **now**? **_Somehow, I just followed the directions my subconscious gave me.

            I went back to my room and fluffed up my bed so it would look like there was someone in it, in case May came into my room as well. Then I went back to Peter's room closed the door, and climbed out the window onto the roof, being careful to sit on the level part. _Not like anyone's going to see me up here, 'cept Pete. _I lay down and stargazed, picking out some well known constellations (hey, I'm no astronomer), eventually falling asleep waiting up.

~*~

            Peter Parker (or Spider-Man, as select few know both identities are one in the same) had just finished his patrol of the city, and was returning home. It hadn't been a tough night; a couple of muggings, a drive-by in which, thankfully, no one was killed, just injured, and an attempted back robbery. He smiled thinking about the last event. Peter had unarmed the two thugs (carrying Uzis is _not an example of being a good citizen) before they got within fifty feet of the bank, and then proceeded to tie them, hanging, _upside down, _from a streetlight. When police got there (just in time; the webbing was about to snap) tipped by an unnamed source, (yeah, right), all the officers found were the crooks and a note saying (what do you _think _it's gonna say?) 'Courtesy of Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man'._

            Peter gave up swinging as he got closer to home, not wanting to see him going in. He simply jumped from building, and, if it was close enough, he ran across the tops.

            As he drew nearer, Pete could determine that there was a figure on the roof, stretched out. Immediately, he went into defense mode, trying to discern if the person was a threat or not. He went forward little by little, inch by inch, until he was almost directly above them. They hadn't moved yet. Peter peeked his head out from the building ledge he was currently perched on, but he still couldn't see who it was. The shadows cloaked them completely, giving him a vague outline. While he was stuck on deciding what to do, he didn't hear the landing of someone else behind him. His spider sense went off, but he ignored it, thinking it was because of him leaning off the edge; the height factor.

            "She is not an enemy."

            Peter shot up like a spring and spun around. He faced Daredevil, the red shrouded vigilante, one of the only beings to know the man behind the mask.

            "What?"

            "You look hesitant to go down, as if the girl will attack you, when in fact she has already been in your home."

            "She has? But . . . but . . . you're absolutely sure she's not an enemy? This isn't some sort of bizarre test you give to aspiring web-swingers, is it?"

            Daredevil simply stared, his silent answer explaining everything.

            "Okay, but if there's splattered spider over that roof, I'll know who to come back and haunt."

            Suddenly the blind hero jerked; hit by an invisible slap.

            "She's awake; was sleeping before. She knows we are here. I must leave. Farewell, Spider-Man. Until we meet again."  And he was gone, vanished into the night.

            "Man, I know _I _creep people out with the whole 'hanging upside down behind you' thing, but he just creeps people out _period!" Peter continued to mumble to himself as he landed softly on his roof, taking small steps toward the now conscious female._

~*~


End file.
